


Phantomhives, Piano, and Pandemonium

by Kuroshit_10



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: I Tried, M/M, No Smut, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuroshit_10/pseuds/Kuroshit_10
Summary: Siegiline's developing a chemical that can heighten and create human emotion. Ciel is scheming and evil as always. Collin Harwood just wants to play the damn piano. Sebastian x Male OC.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Phantomhives, Piano, and Pandemonium

**Author's Note:**

> There are some science-y things at the beginning of this chapter and I can almost guarantee they're inaccurate so please forgive me.

**Prologue**

* * *

Sieglinde Sulivan’s laboratory was extraordinary both in its size and its contents. In recent years, Sullivan had been granted money by the queen -- or so she told Ciel -- to expand her already expansive manor, so it now looked more like a mountain than a house. Despite the manor’s enormity, however, it was packed with trinkets, machinery, chemicals, and other science-related objects Ciel couldn’t identify. At the moment, Sullivan was ranting about a small metal device that she called a barometer, and Ciel was absentmindedly nodding along. 

“So, you see, the mercury will rise and fall based on the pressure of the air in the room, allowing me to find the pressure of a gas -- a number which I can then use to identify said gas. But you see, the tricky part was keeping the barometer at a constant temperature, seeing that heat also affects mercury. Oh!” Ciel was jolted painfully back into consciousness, “and wait until you see my biggest project. You’ll love it! I know the Queen does!” Sullivan (quite literally) scampered over to another crowded table lining the walls of her laboratory. Her mechanical, spider-like appendages clanged against the floor as she moved. Ciel’s heeled shoes, in comparison, made a satisfying clunk as he moved reluctantly to follow her. When he had asked for a tour, he hadn’t been envisioning an hour-long affair. 

At the lab table, Sieglinde shuffled through papers until she found a small, black box. Clicking the latches open, she proudly presented a shiny pink chemical to Ciel, who squinted.

“What is it?”

“Simply put…” Sieglinde paused dramatically, “emotion. Human emotion. Slip a bit of this in a person’s drink -- boom, they feel three times what is normal.”

Ciel’s eye widened, “you must be joking.” 

Sieglinde grinned, “I’m not. Emotions are essentially chemical, anyway. Your brain reacts to the hormones your body generates, making you feel things. I simply reproduce that chemical here -- along with a few human enzymes for a lasting effect -- but that’s getting technical. Her majesty believes this could be useful during wartime in its gaseous form. After getting a triple dose of fear, many enemy soldiers are sure to flee. So Ciel~” She leaned forward flirtatiously, “what do you think?”

Ciel ignored her and ran a thumb over his chin thoughtfully, “I can understand why her majesty found interest in this. If it works, this could seriously revolutionize modern warfare -- ground battles at least. Though I suppose it might not be used as much in our great country, given our navy based militia… but that’s just speculation. Either way, well done, Sullivan.”

“Thank you,” Sieglinde said, beaming. Then she closed the case with a sigh, “unfortunately, I’ve only been able to test it on rats and pigs. I’m still apprehensive about testing it on a human subject…”

Ciel nodded and was about to suggest she look into taking inmates from the local prison when an idea struck him. As soon as it crossed his mind, he knew it would either be the worst or best idea he’d ever had. Always one for entertainment, Ciel decided to throw caution to the wind.

“About the test subject,” he announced as they walked back to the front of the house, “I may be able to help you with that.’

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

“Collin, you’ve gotten a letter!”

Collin allowed himself a moment to fade into consciousness and blink the drowsiness from his eyes. Then he put on his glasses, stretched, yawned, and hollered:

“WHAT?!”

“A letter!! From some fancy noble by the looks of it -- its got wax and everything. Say, you haven’t gotten into any trouble, have you? This family can’t afford any more trouble.” 

“No, auntie,” Collin was pattering down the stairs then, socked feet making the boards creak, “do I look like the type to cause trouble to you? Perhaps there’s someone interested in piano services.” 

He knew as soon as he mentioned his service what his aunt’s reaction would be.

“Stupid boy,” She spun her wheelchair around to face Collin as he entered the kitchen, “no noble worth his coin would want a kid like you playin’ piano at one of his balls.”

Collin sighed, “I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-two. Now can I please have the bloody letter?”

Still grumbling, Collin’s aunt handed it over. The letter did indeed look as though a noble had sent it. The envelope was made of thick, quality paper -- and the wax seal was stamped with a fancy insignia. Heart racing, Collin tore the letter open, the paper shell falling away to reveal its precious contents. A short note was enclosed, written in elegant, scrawling script. It read:

Mr. Collin J Harwood, 

Your presence is requested on October 15th at the Phantomhive manor (located in Sherrywood, 10 miles east of London), where a pianist is needed. You will receive 1,000 euros for one night’s work. Enclosed is enough money to secure a carriage ride to the manor. You may wish to arrive presently and stay in one of our rooms, or you may arrive a day before the vent. If you are unable to make it, please send word.

Best regards, The Phantomhive Household

Collin reread the letter. He brought it to his face and looked so hard that his glasses slid down his nose, nearly hitting the floor.

“What is it?” His aunt asked impatiently. She was looking up at him, blue eyes electric with excitement, “more importantly, does it involve money?”

“Yes,” Collin breathed. Fumbling, he dug through the letter to reveal the cash, “and more to come. I’ve got a gig!”

“Blimey,” his aunt said. For a moment, the two stared disbelievingly at the letter. Then Collin jumped into action.

“I’ll go pack!” he shouted, already halfway up the stairs, “I ought to get going by nightfall. I want to get there as soon as I can!”

“Go pack, then,” his aunt yelled after him, “and slip me an autograph before you leave, won’t you?” Alone in the kitchen, the old woman chuckled. 

.

The city of London was perpetually grim. The sky was a blanket of smoke, the ground a rug of soot. Homeless men and children haunted the dreary shadows, their thin hands trembling while fat nobles rode through the cobblestone streets in decadent carriages. Ravens and vultures circled overhead, splattering lampposts and rooftops with their droppings. Stagnant puddles of human waste clogged the gutters in areas without modern infrastructure, so the air smelled like piss.

Despite it all, Collin found London to be beautiful, in its way. His eyes remained glued to the carriage window as it passed massive, gothic buildings -- masterpieces that had been standing long before he was born. Collin could almost feel the thick history entombed under London’s dying grasses. Shakespeare had once lived in this great city. So had Queen Elizabeth, Chopin, Mozart, and so many other geniuses. It might be a crumbling city, but it was one of hope and adventure. 

Soon, to Collin’s disappointment, the carriage left London, and he was surrounded on both sides by acres of farmland. It was dark, only a glint of sunlight left to see by. Collin hoped offhandedly that the horses could see in the dark/

“Hey, you,” the driver -- Randy -- said suddenly, catching Collin’s attention, “where’d you say you were going again?”

Collin blanched, “Sherrywood, sir. To the Phantomhive manor.”

“Phantomhive!” Randy exclaimed gruffly, twisting around in his seat, “I’m sure you didn’t tell me that before. What business do you have with that lot? Phantomhive is a troubling name, you know. My mate’s cousin got in a skirmish with a Phantomhive years ago. Poor bloke didn’t live to tell the tale.”

“Really?”

“On my honor. The Phantomhives are notoriously mysterious. The littluns ‘round here tell tales of monsters living within that manor’s walls. All rubbish, of course, but perhaps there’s a truth to it. Villagers on the Phantomhive’s land claim they hear screams coming from the manor at night. I swear I heard something of the like months ago, driving a young couple up to that house. On my life, I swear it.”

“Is that so…” by then Collin was very pale and very frightened. Suddenly, journeying off in the night at the beck and call of a mysterious letter didn’t seem like such a bright idea. Sensing Collin’s anxiety, Randy chuckled. 

“No need to be so frightened, boy, there’s rumor surrounding every noble household. Just keep your head on your shoulders and you’ll be fine. Besides, even if there is something shady about the Phantomhives, they wouldn’t bother a -- what are you again -- clarinet player?”

“I’m a pianist,” Collin responded somewhat shakily.

“A pianist! How could I forget? Well now, off you go!” 

The carriage rolled to a stop. Collin peered out of the window and was surprised to find the Phantomhive manor looming over him -- he hadn’t been paying attention to their approach. Clamoring out of the vehicle, he tipped his hat to the Randy. 

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

Having been paid in advance, Randy whipped the horses and sped off with a nod of the head, leaving Collin utterly alone. Gulping and gripping his suitcase tightly in one hand, Collin gaped at the hulking shadow of a house above him. At once, he felt more anxious than excited. A question of propriety was beginning to present itself. Was he to knock on the front door, or search the house for a servant’s entrance? Having only played in bars and shops before, he was clueless. Collin felt his palms begin to sweat. One wrong move could result in disgrace and a poor first impression.

After a minute of standing in the chilly night air, Collin decided the front door was too grand for him and began to search for another entrance. Luckily, he quickly found a small path in the bushes on the left side of the driveway. He didn’t have to walk far before he reached a door. Hesitantly, he knocked on it.

“Hello?”

Not half a second passed before the door creaked open an inch. Pale blue eyes stared at Collin.

“Who is it?” a gruff voice asked.

“Collin,” Collin said, “the pianist. Forgive me if I was supposed to enter elsewhere.” 

The voice grunted, and the door creaked open another inch.

“A pianist? I haven’t heard anything about a pianist.”

Collin blushed, heart racing, “But… I got a letter. Is this not the Phantomhive household?”

The voice was silent for a moment. Then the door slammed shut on Collin’s face.

“SEBASTIAN!!” Came a muffled shout from inside. Not five seconds later, the door opened.

“Collin Harwood I presume?”

On the other side of the frame stood a tall young man in a black suit. He looked unlike anyone Collin had ever seen. Paper-white skin accented by sharp cheekbones contrasted kettle black hair. Adding to the strange combination were light red-brown eyes. His race was indiscernible. Japanese? British? A mixture? Collin wanted to ask but decided it wouldn’t be polite. Then he realized he’d been staring.

“Yes sir, that’s me,” he extended a hand, which the other man shook, “and you are?” 

“Sebastian Michaelis, the butler. Thank you for coming. Now, if you wish to see your room you may follow me this way.”

Sebastian turned to lead the way, and Collin trailed behind, still shell-shocked. The night had turned out nothing like he’d expected. He had been exited leaving his aunt’s house hours ago, but now he was anxious and paranoid. If only Randy hadn’t said anything about the Phantomhive’s legacy. It was better to be ignorant than terrified.

After a few twists and turns, Sebastian opened a door and stepped back to present Collin his room. Like much about this night, the room astounded Colin. It was elegant and spacious -- quarters more befitting of a noble than a piano player. He walked into it open-mouthed.

“Blimey -- is this really-”

“Yes,” the butler interrupted, looking pressed for time, “it’s completely yours.”

“Blimey,” Collin repeated. He walked further into the room, running his hand over the cold leather of a fireside chair. Sebastian waited for a few seconds, allowing him a brief window for admiration, before continuing. 

“You can come to the kitchen for meals, and you may go wherever you please, as long as you don’t cause trouble. The piano is located in the ballroom. You may play it whenever you like. Any questions?” 

Collin tapped his chin, “Yes, actually. Where are the restrooms?”

“There’s one in your room. Anything else?” Sebastian said. By then he was halfway out the door. Finally coming to his senses, Collin blushed and looked away.

“No sir. Thank you.”

Sebastian turned away, then hesitated. His back was still to Collin when he said:

“One last thing, Mr. Harwood. Try not to look so frightened.”

With that, he left, and Collin was standing alone in the moonlight.

.

Ciel was bored. The night thus far had been uneventful. No one had shown up to murder him, no mysterious letter from the queen had arrived, and Baldroy hadn’t made even one explosion. So there he sat, reading a Dickens novel with his heeled shoes propped on his desk -- something Sebastion would scold him for.

Reading Dickens wouldn’t have been quite so bad, except the author was currently in a lengthy, single-sentence rant, and Ciel didn’t care for that kind of thing. He found himself reading the same passage over and over without grasping its meaning. Bored out of his mind, he snaked a hand to a lower desk drawer and searched through its contents. Finally feeling the smooth glass of a vial against his fingertips, he procured the solution Sieglinde had given him less than a week ago. ‘Emotion’ she had called it. He toyed with the thing, passing it between his fingertips as he thought.

He sort of liked that human emotion could be reproduced and bottled. It had been off-putting at first, hearing Sieglinde prattle on about the science behind the chemical, but now he found it comforting. The way some romantics spoke of emotion -- like it was something priceless -- this bottle proved them wrong. Emotion was nothing but cold science, a survival mechanism. 

But then there was the matter of souls… 

From the moment Sieglinde had mentioned the chemical, Ciel had thought of Sebastian. The butler had been particularly annoying that day, making subtle jabs at him and twisting his orders until he wanted to scream. Sometimes he could tolerate the demon, even appreciate his services, but most of the time Sebastian annoyed the hell out of him. It was clear that Sebastian enjoyed pointing out his weaknesses, the things that made him so disgustingly human. If this potion of Sieglinde’s worked on the demon it would be glorious payback. Ciel doubted it would work, but there was hope. After all, Sebastian had been affected by the mustard gas back in Germany. He hadn’t been on the brink of death like Ciel had, but his skin had been covered by nasty boils for over a day. Perhaps the serum would have some effect on him -- at least until he noticed what was happening. 

The door creaked open, and Sebastian slipped inside. Ciel quickly slipped the serum back into his desk drawer and cringed as he realized his feet were still propped up on his desk. It was not a position befitting a Lord, but Sebastian said nothing. The butler only raised an eyebrow.

“The pianist is here, my lord. He arrived six minutes ago at the kitchen door and is currently accommodating himself with his room. I don’t believe you need to worry about him, he’s not the type to pry.”

“Good,” Ciel removed his feet from his desk, “I need someone knowledgeable and intelligent, but not curious. Are you sure he’ll work?” He knew he didn’t need to ask, but Sebastian became annoyed when Ciel doubted him, so Ciel had made it a habit.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he paused, “do you require anything else, my lord?”

Ciel shook his head, “No,” then, “wait, one more thing.” 

He opened the drawer and removed Sieglinde’s vile. He allowed Sebastian to see it and held it towards him, hiding in plain sight. 

“Sample this. It’s a drug Sullivan’s concocted that’s meant to lower blood pressure. I told her I’d find a way to test it so she’d stop talking. Tell me if it works… human drugs do affect you, do they not?” 

Sebastian looked amused, “Yes, if I want them to. I’ll get back to you, my lord,” he took the vial from Ciel’s hand and downed it in one gulp. Inwardly Ciel cheered, proud he’d managed to trick his butler. Outwardly, however, he forced his features to remain blank. If Sebastian saw triumph on his face he’d suspect something and try to reverse the effects of the drug.

“Alert me if you feel any effects. You’re dismissed,” Ciel said. Sebastian bowed out, and he was alone again. He swung his feet back onto his desk and continued to be bored.

.

Collin woke up to the soft sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. He yawned, nuzzling deeper into his warm mattress. This bed was much more comfortable than his spiky, mildew-ridden bed at home. The pillows were fluffy and devoid of spiky feathers to scratch his face, so he snuggled into them. Birds chirped pleasantly outside. Then-

BANG!

Collin shot upright in bed. He looked around wildly, his heart a rapid drum beating in his ears. There had undeniably been an explosion somewhere in the manor. Quickly, he clambered out of bed and threw on a black jacket over his boxers and bare chest. Not worrying about polite society for once in his life, he ran out the door and down the hallway towards the kitchen. 

The kitchen was a long way from Collin’s room. He wasn’t used to living in such a big house, and the halls seemed to go on for miles. Luckily, he had an excellent memory and could easily remember the way to the kitchen. Despite being a mere piano player, Collin was incredibly smart.

At last, Collin reached the kitchen and threw open the door. Upon seeing what was inside, he gasped, hands flying to his mouth. The place was in ruins -- soot covered the walls, rubble littered the floor, and cookware lay strewn everywhere. At the center of the mess stood two blackened figures arguing with each other. 

“How many times do I have to tell you? No flamethrowers are permitted in the kitchen. Is it too hard for your monkey brain to comprehend? If it’s used primarily to kill people, don’t bring it in here.”

“I’ve killed people with knives, but those are in the kitchen. Hell, I killed a guy with a chair! Should we get rid of the chairs too?” 

“You know full well what I mean! If you procure something that can completely ruin a room, then don’t bring it in the kitchen. It’s not that difficult to understand-” 

The figure talking noticed Collin and fell silent. It wiped soot off its face, and finally, Collin recognized Sebastian, the butler. Upon further inspection of the other figure, he could make out Baldroy, the cook. They both stared at him incredulously. 

“Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” Baldroy asked, “Did you not pack any?” 

Collin couldn’t believe it. They were standing in the middle of an exploded kitchen, covered in soot, and the most peculiar thing was his half-nakedness? He was wearing a jacket for goodness sake!

“I didn’t exactly have enough time to dress before the kitchen exploded,” He breathed, “I could hear the explosion from upstairs. Crikey, it rocked the entire house! How are you both unharmed?”

Sebastian waved a hand as if the entire kitchen wasn’t in ruin. 

“It sounded worse than it was. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll get you some clothing. Then you can eat while Baldroy cleans the kitchen.”

“What?!” The cook protested, “how am I supposed to clean this mess by myself? That’s impossible.” 

Sebastian cast a cold glare towards Baldroy. It was the most animated Collin had ever seen the butler, as if anger and disgust were his only emotions.

“I suggest you find a way to clean this before Collin and I get back. I know where you hide those filthy magazines Lau gifted you last week. If you’d like to keep them, this place should be sparkling by the time I get back.” 

With that, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen. Collin hurried to follow him, leaving the red-faced cook alone. 

When he was angry, Sebastian walked at inhuman speeds. Collin had to jog to keep up with him, and even though Sebastian’s room wasn’t far from the kitchen, Collin was winded by the time they arrived. His room was large for a servant’s room, but it was fairly vacant. There was a bed, a clothing drawer, and not much else. 

Sebastian went over to a drawer and handed Collin a white undershirt and a pair of black slacks. 

“Put these on,” he ordered. 

Collin blushed, “Er, here? I think I’d rather dress in my room-”

Sebastian sighed, “That would give Baldroy far too much time to clean the kitchen. If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t look.” He turned around so that he was looking away from Collin, out the window, “Is this alright?”

“Yes… I suppose.” In truth, Collin still felt weary as he removed his jacket and slid on the butler’s spare clothes. He’d never been much of a conversationalist, so he remained silent until he was finished.

“Alright, I’m ready.” 

Sebastian turned back towards him, and Collin was shocked to see streaks of tears across the servant’s face. His expression was otherwise blank, but his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. 

“Are you alright?” Collin asked, bewildered. He wasn’t sure if he should comfort the man or not. Sebastian stared at him, perplexed.

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You- I’m sorry, it just looked like you’d been crying.”

“What?” Sebastian doubled back so that he could observe himself in the mirror above his dresser. Eyes wide, he ran a hand over the side of his face. It was damp. 

“Did you not know?” Collin asked awkwardly. He wasn’t sure how one could cry without knowing, but he supposed it was possible. 

“No-” Sebastian hesitated, “but I recently sampled an experimental medication. Perhaps it’s a side effect? Or maybe it was the soot.” He stared at his damp face for another second before turning away from the mirror. The skin around his eyes had returned to its normal state, and his face was dry. Whatever had overcome him before no longer had any effect. Collin relaxed, glad to have escaped without any need to play therapist. He didn’t mind, but he was terrible at that sort of thing.

They returned to the kitchen, where to no one’s surprise, no progress had been made. The room almost looked worse. Sebastian banished Baldroy to elsewhere, threw away his dirty magazines, and began repairing the kitchen. Before he left for the ballroom, Collin noticed with astonishment that the butler’s clothes were free of soot, though he’d never had time to change. 

Weird. 

.

"Acta... deos numquam... mortalia... f-fallunt.”

“Your pronunciation is preposterous. Try again, and quicker this time.”

“Acta.... acta deo- ugh, I give up!” Ciel banged his head against the table and laid there

defeatedly. It was one of the rare instances when the boy looked his age -- a grumpy fifteen year old tired of his studies. 

Sebastian smirked, “For a prodigy such as yourself, you’re impressively incompetent at picking up languages. I’ve known two-year-old children who spoke better Latin.”

“Well, those children were probably Roman, weren’t they? I’d say they had a bit of an advantage,” Ciel argued against the table.

“Actually, the child I was referring to lived in the Ottoman Empire in the fifteenth century and was learning Latin as his second language. He was also under my tutelage.” 

“Well, perhaps you were a better teacher back then. You’ve tired with old age.”

Sebastian sighed, “Such an attitude is unbecoming of you, young master. I suppose your attention span warrants this lesson’s termination,” he shut the textbook with a snap, “let it never be said that no one attempted to teach you.”

Ciel growled and remained slumped in his chair as Sebastian stood and put the Latin books back on their proper shelves. They were in a small corner of the manor library -- a corner dedicated to language-related studies. Sebastian had insisted that studying different subjects in different locations would assist in Ciel’s education, so different spots around the library were dedicated to different topics. At the table in the middle of the room, Ciel studied maths. In the right-hand corner, he would study the sciences, and so on. For most topics, Ciel had hired a tutor, but he was too embarrassed with his abysmal Latin to be tutored by anyone other than Sebastian. He often questioned this decision, as Sebastian bullied him more than any tutor would dare to.

Reminded of how much he hated his pet demon, Ciel remembered his petty revenge plan. To his disappointment, Sebastian had been acting normal after swallowing Seigdeline’s serum. Sullivan had told him it shouldn’t take more than an hour for the stuff to start kicking in, and it had been half a day. Perhaps the chemical didn’t work after all -- or maybe it just didn’t work on Sebastian. Or maybe...

“Sebastian?” 

“My lord?”

“The medicine Sullivan created… does it work? She, er, asked me in a letter.”

Sebastian chuckled as he slipped the last of the books back into their place. The sound of his cold laughter was enough to assure Ciel that the experiment had failed. He felt stupid for even attempting it. Sebastian was a heartless demon -- no amount of serum was going to change his nature. 

“It didn’t work. My blood pressure remained level.”

“Alright,” Ciel signed inwardly. Sieglinde would be expecting results, so he would have to find a human test subject. As if planning the systematic murder of three of Britain’s top businessmen wasn’t enough… there was no rest for the queen’s watchdog. 

Suddenly, from somewhere in the manor there was a loud noise like thunder. Ciel flinched and sat straight up in his chair. From across the room, Sebastian chuckled derisively. 

Ciel glared at him, “What the bloody hell was that?!”

No sooner had he asked than a rapid string of scales seeped through the walls, followed by an illustrious Chopin nocturne. Even through the paint and plaster, Ciel could appreciate the beauty and mastery of the tune. It was like nothing he’d ever heard before.

“He’s good,” he admitted, casting an approving glance towards Sebastian, “He could go far, you know. I’m surprised you found him playing in a bar, with that talent. How old is he?” 

“Twenty-two. He’s from an insignificant family, which is likely why his gifts have gone unappreciated. I suppose we’d like to get to know him, seeing as he’ll be playing for big families soon enough. Perhaps he could be an asset in the future.” 

Ciel thought about this. He hated taking Sebastian’s suggestions and proving the damned butler right (he was already so full of himself), but he couldn’t resist a chance to build up his underground network. Then again, after the pianist experienced “Phantomhive hospitality,” he might be reluctant to join Ciel. Well, it was worth a shot. 

“You’re right. Offer him a spot at my table tonight; I’d like to speak with him. What’s his name again?”

“Harwood. Collin Harwood.” 

The name sounded innocuous and simple. It didn’t belong on the devil’s tongue, just as its bearer didn’t belong in his manor. 

Ciel smiled, “Perfect.”

.

Collin was composing in his room when there was a knock on his door. He sighed and stood reluctantly from his desk, where a half-made piece lay beckoning. He was onto something with this song -- he just knew it. Perhaps he would play it at the soiree if he finished in time. He wasn’t sure how Lord Phantomhive would feel about his performing an original composition, though. He’d have to take it up with the Lord, wherever he was.

Collin opened the door. Not surprisingly, Sebastian, the butler, stood on the other side of the frame. The man seemed to do everything around the house, from cooking to cleaning to entertaining the guests. Was that the typical role of a butler? Collin had never been in a noble household before, so he wasn’t sure. 

“What is it?” Collin asked. If any irritation showed in Collin’s voice, Sebastian didn’t acknowledge it. The butler was the kind of person that always seemed in control. He was like a rock among pebbles -- when the tide came in he wouldn't budge. No, that was a poor analogy. Sebastian was anything but a rock, more like a chiseled-

“My master requests you dine with him this evening. Would you like to?” 

Train of thought abandoned, Collin froze. “Lord Phantomhive would like to dine with me,” he repeated dumbly.

“Yes.”

“Personally. As in, alone.”

Sebastian smirked, “Yes. It isn’t uncommon for a Lord to dine with his guest. My master heard you play earlier today and took an interest in you. He plays the violin himself.”

“Er- alright. Now, I reckon?” Collin was impressed with how little his voice shook. A heavy blanket of dread had been draped over his shoulders and now coated his surroundings in quivering darkness. He had stupidly assumed he would never formally meet Lord Phantomhive, and if he was lucky, never see the man’s face. There was no need for a musician to meet his patron after all, especially when the said patron was a busy noble with an agenda. 

“Correct. Dinner begins in five minutes.”

Collin stood rooted to the spot, so Sebastian took the initiative and led the way to the dining hall. Collin followed dumbly behind as if in a trance. He was going to screw something up. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he was going to screw something up because that’s what he always did. In his entire life, he’d had one experience with talking to the nobility, and it had ended very poorly. Long story short, ferret excrement is very difficult to clean from one’s hair.

“M-mister Michaelis?” Collin asked after a few seconds, already out of breath. 

“Call me Sebastian, Mr. Harwood. What do you need?” Sebastian slowed down slightly to let Collin catch up, but checked his pocket watch impatiently. 

Collin blushed, “How would you describe your master?” 

“Impatient. Now, if we don’t want to be late, we should hurry.” 

.

By the time they arrived at the dining hall, Collin was winded. He tried to quiet his gasps for air, but he must have looked exhausted all the same. Pianists did not typically get much exercise. Apparently butlers, however, were very good with cardio. Panting, he collapsed against a wall and looked around the room. 

The first thing Collin noticed was the table. It was far too big for two people. That begged the question: where was he supposed to sit? At the end, so that conversation would be difficult, or upfront where they would be up close and personal? Or perhaps somewhere in the middle? There really should’ve been some kind of handbook for such things. He imaged the title: “Poor Pianist’s Guide to Not Fucking Up in High Society.” 

Aside from the horrible riddle of a dining room table, the place was magnificent. A large crystal chandelier that must have cost a fortune hung from the high ceiling. Paintings adorned the room’s walls, some of which Collin recognized. Scintillating candles flickered and gleamed in their holders around the room, casting elegant rays that reflected off furniture and clocks. Best of all was a large window at the end of the room which proudly displayed the backyard. The setting sun shown boldly through that window, bathing the room in soft pinks and yellows. 

Collin was too busy admiring the place to notice Sebastian had left. A minute later, he was shocked when the butler returned with a short, prepubescent boy. 

The boy marched across the dining room with an impressive air of authority, stuck out his hand, and greeted him.

“Hello Mr. Harwood,” he said. Collin shook the boy’s hand hesitantly, “Please have a seat.” 

Collin sat. He looked towards the door expectantly, waiting for a middle-aged man to stroll through and declare himself Lord Phantomhive. Then he realized he’d already met the Lord.

A wave of shock hit Collin and he spun back around to face the boy -- Earl Phantomhive, apparently -- who was now sitting at the head of the table. He was folding his napkin over his lap, not seeming to mind Collin’s lack of manners, though at his age he was probably used to it. Still, Collin felt his cheeks burn as he spread his own napkin. He’d asked Sebastian for a description of the Earl, and the only thing the butler had thought to say was ‘impatient.’ Really? No sort of warning? He cast a glare in the butler’s general direction then cleared his throat.

“Er- thank you, my Lord, for inviting me to dinner, and for hiring me.”

Ciel Phantomhive looked up at him, “No problem, Mr. Harwood. I surmise this is your first time in a noble household?”

Collin flushed, “Is it that obvious?” 

Ciel grinned, “No, you’re actually doing quite well, I’m just particularly observant. Besides, based on your background it was a simple assumption.” The boy’s single blue eye gleamed and he leaned forward.

“Tell me about yourself. How long have you been playing the piano?” 

And thus the string of questions began. Ciel asked Collin about every minute detail in his life, and Collin answered honestly. In turn, Ciel told him nothing. It went on like that through the entire dinner and multiple courses. The food was exquisite, but Collin barely had enough time to eat it, for he was so busy talking. Slowly, his anxiety began to evaporate. He noticed halfway through the dinner he was still wearing the butler’s spare clothes, but he no longer cared. The more he spoke with Ciel, the more he saw past the boy’s noble title and was able to glimpse the curious, intelligent teenager underneath. Eventually, the conversation turned to the next day, when the guests would arrive and Collin would play.

“You can play whatever you like,” Ciel was saying as he toyed with his pasta, “but do try to throw in some standard pieces. The people attending the event tomorrow won’t have an appreciation for true artistry, I’m afraid. They’ll like what they’ve heard before. But I wouldn’t mind a few new compositions myself.”

“You wouldn’t?” Collin beamed, “I’ve been working on a few things myself…” 

He wolfed down the remainder of his dinner, and once he was dismissed, rushed back to his room to finish his composition. It was coming together with surprising ease, as if the notes were arranging themselves. For the rest of the night, all he could think of was the music, and in sleep, he dreamed in notes.

.

“He’s hopelessly gullible and unobservant,” Ciel drawled. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Sebastian clean the dishes. He didn’t have anything else to do, “I was pointing a pistol at his balls the entire meal, and he didn’t notice. He’ll do perfectly tomorrow, don’t you think?” 

Sebastian continued washing the dishes silently. His hands were scrubbing feverishly at the bubbly porcelain, but his eyes were trained out the window and fixated on something in the distance. Ciel followed his gaze, but the night was too dark to make anything out.

“What’re you looking at? Is someone there?”

Again, no response.

“Oi, Sebastian!” 

This finally caught the butler’s attention. His head whipped around and he stared at Ciel wide-eyed.

“Forgive me, my lord. What is it?” 

“I was just asking if you saw anything, staring out the window like that. What’s gotten into you?”

Sebastian grimaced, “I was distracted. I apologize.” 

“Whatever,” Ciel huffed and crossed his arms. He did not take kindly to being ignored, “Just plant the explosives and clean up for tomorrow. I want this whole thing over quickly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this wasn't too horrible. I would be very grateful if you could comment with your opinions. Even if you hated it and this was the worst thing you've ever read I want to know! I'm always trying to get better so feed back is appreciated. I'll try to post the next chapter some time within the next two weeks.


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